Saints and Sinners
by Zerbinetta
Summary: Who would have ever thought that a canvas painted in colors of sin could form the image of a savior?
1. Envy

Brief rewrite, to correct mistakes and add some spaces.

**o.O.o**

**Envy**

**o.O.o**

Every day, she woke with the sense that something was distinctly wrong.

It wasn't a premonition or anything the Jedi were rumored to be capable of; simply a feeling that something was horribly out of place. It always happened when she woke, never at a different time, but once the feeling came, it took several hours for it to gradually lessen. It never disappeared, though. Somehow, it was as if something had sunk underneath her skin and chosen to remain there, sending shivers down her spine whenever she did something, was addressed or spotted something that she thought she ought to recognize.

Such feelings never went beyond her consciousness, however. It was always just… there... and nothing ever came of it, or so she supposed. And it served her well at times, especially during combat training, this constant vigilance, a sense that she was always being watched and that somehow, there was something larger going on.

It went beyond the bounds of paranoia; when in a good mood, she would joke that this was her gut instinct, her sixth sense or simply womanly intuition. But then why did it unnerve her so? Why did everything feel… wrong?

She had suffered a bad concussion during a ship crash about a year ago, or so she had been told. She remembered only parts of the incident, but always there was that bright light that blocked out her memory when she tried to recall the event and she found herself clutching her head in pain. Her amnesia had been only temporary, fortunately, but still, it had been an unnerving experience.

Her current life wasn't entirely better.

She had been hired as an interpreter into the Republic fleet, eventually becoming a scout for it after several successful missions. Though only a regular soldier in terms of rank, every day, she was showered with praise and told that she was bound to rise in rank quickly, if she chose to remain with the fleet. Always with the coaxing, they came, whenever she even thought of leaving the fleet.

There were reasons for such things. Most soldiers were… unnerved by her. Intimidated, even. But, most of all, they were jealous.

It was said that she had had no formal weapon training before her entry into a fleet; yet from the moment she had picked up a vibroblade, her instructors went pale and then red and some eventually green. The blade danced in her hands like a firefly in the night and the forked tongues of jealousy would prattle on behind her back that such skill couldn't possibly be natural, even though at first, she had struggled a bit with the weigh of this weapon, an odd thing for one so skilled.

At least she wasn't a flawless marksman to boot, else she would never have been able to hear the end of the whispers behind her back. But still, she possessed such skill even in that area, though she couldn't explain how her sloppy aim usually managed to work out. And when someone aimed their shots at her, somehow she saw and _knew_ and could avoid them without fault.

It was… instinct. She couldn't explain it otherwise.

She was a born diplomat and mediator; somehow, the right words always _came_ and she knew how to voice them. She was a polyglot; the words were always with her. at times she began to think in a language she didn't even remember knowing before realizing where it had come from. It was a talent as well as a hobby, she supposed, though it tended to confuse people when she suddenly started to speak in an alien dialect on instinct.

And if people shunned her, which didn't happen often, she retreated to her own private little mechanical kingdom and tinkered with machines, large and small, complex and simple, for hours without end. She couldn't remember feeling love for any human being in her life – not the love so many raved and ranted about – and memories of her family were hazy blurs at best. However, she felt something akin to it when the little droid she had been setting together began to hum and operate as she had wished it to do.

She had no intention of marrying or having children; perhaps this was a reprieve from that, her only chance to create something with a life of its own. And she felt powerful when she created things, if a trifle childish. She had outgrown her need for applause already.

Thus envy surrounded her wherever she went, though it appeared mostly when she left the room, replacing the awe she had inspired. It wasn't that she wasn't well-liked; it was simply the fact that she seemed too perfect, too unreachable and unreal. The wiser of those who spoke with her noticed her casual detachment from other people, even if she didn't, for most of the time.

So young; she couldn't be over thirty in standard years just yet. So brilliant; she debated war strategy with seasoned soldiers and never ceased to surprise them. So magnetic; when she spoke, others fell silent and even those who usually never listened, only heard, opened up their ignorant ears.

So… alone.

There was not one person around her that could claim to understand her, be like her or be close to her. She was a separate being. Where she walked, fascination followed, but when she left, envy and jealousy crept to unless the spell was renewed.

The Republic wasn't good to its very core and those who fought under its banner were only human – or alien – and thus very much imperfect. Some considered her a prodigy, a blessing to the fleet. Others, who strived to be what she achieved without trying claimed that it was suspicious for a raw recruit to possess _unnatural_ skill. Some weren't beyond muttering that she could be a Sith infiltration specialist, for all they knew.

For some reason, the notion always struck her as strangely funny.


	2. Patience

**o.O.o**

**Patience**

**o.O.o**

When she was reassigned to the Endar Spire, she didn't think much of it. It was only when news of the Jedi that would be traveling with them reached her that her interest was piqued.

Jedi were intriguing, with their command of the mystical Force. They were also considered arrogant and short-sighted by some, but she didn't think of them as such. Rather, she imagined them as very removed from normal life, something they had never known. They were the victims of their very own ways, a catch twenty-two that they would never be able to escape. At times, she pitied them. At times, they were laughable.

But mostly, whenever she heard mention of them, her _instinct_ would perk up and keep her on her toes. Just enough to tell her to pay attention to what was going on.

She knew good things came to those who waited, but she also knew how obsolete too much deliberation was. Yet if there was one thing she couldn't define, it was her purpose. What did she want to be, to do? These things were questions that poured through her mind day after day.

Surely she didn't want to remain a translator for the fleet for the rest of her life. Granted, she didn't think joining the Sith would be a good idea, but she understood well enough that currently, she was on the losing side. Yet somehow, she wasn't disturbed by this, even though she was a practical, pragmatic person.

It was as if she was waiting for something she didn't really understand. It was… difficult.

Whenever she thought of these things, she got a miserable headache that ruined her mood. Actually, that usually happened when she tried to remember too much of the moment she had suffered that concussion during the shuttle crash. Before that, her memory was clear, but somehow blurred as well.

She remembered her childhood on a remote planet called Deralia, far away from Republic space. The names and faces of her parents. The schools she had attended and how everyone had always claimed that she was bound for greatness. But those were general thoughts. She didn't know whence came her _instinct_, how come she felt out of place in her current life or why she constantly had the feeling that something was drawing near.

She never shared these feelings with anyone. When she had tried, once, she had been brushed off as slightly paranoid and overcautious. It was simple anxiousness out of being part of these grand events, they had told her. She would be fine. There was nothing to worry about as long as she did what she did best.

She was patient, but she didn't know what she was waiting for, but she suspected it had something to do with the few memories that hadn't yet returned to her. Memories always came back when you weren't looking for them; perhaps it was simply a matter of immersing herself in her work and letting things take their course and their time.

When the Sith attacked the Endar Spire, she figured that it was to be expected. After all, a Republic ship approaching a planet under quarantine was an easy thing to spot, especially with the well-known design of the vessel. Strange that she didn't fear for her life then. Strange that she survived that spectacular explosion, one of the legends of the Republic fleet at her side.

But even stranger was that when their escape pod crashed, she saw a young woman, pale and armed with a Jedi's weapon, cutting down an enemy that stood between her… and her target. And for a moment, as if reincarnated, _she_ knew that she was the target of the woman and yet her mind was serene.

She told Carth Onasi nothing of this vision; he was a logical man, rational though passionate and impulsive, as she discovered during their furious race against time to find the Jedi that had led their mission. He would have said that it was simply a dream, at best, a hallucination of pain, at worst. She would have forgotten it soon enough, if not for the moment she came face-to-face with Bastila, the Jedi about who everyone knew and spoke whenever possible.

Bastila was the young woman from her dream. And when she saw her face for the first time, there was a searing pain in the back of her mind and she saw the vision progress, a great battle unfold. And then, Bastila's helpless and sad look faded back into the self-righteous expression she wore in reality.

The young Jedi noticed her uneasiness, but when confronted with news of these visions, it seemed that she was both somewhat jumpy and still not as surprised as she ought to be. Why was she even telling the Jedi of this, she didn't really know. Perhaps it had something to do with studying people's reactions, which she was fond of. The Jedi didn't give her a satisfying answer; in truth, it seemed she was circling the question. She went as far as to claim credit for the vision, but her explanation rang hollow when she was told of the first vision, which had nothing to do with her presence.

She had begun to surprise even herself. She knew her reflexes were quick, but she had never thought that she might have a talent for swoop racing. The arena hailed her as champion now, the greatest duelist in the history of the planet. Carth would comment at times that this was hardly what counted as keeping a low-profile, but as she aptly reminded him, even soldiers needed to eat.

Luck – or the Force, Bastila would say – was on their side, though. Everything was progressing with almost too much ease. Within a day of rescuing Bastila, they had a new ally and a plan for getting off the planet. She had felt _something_ when first conversing with the Mandalorian, Canderous Ordo, like a memory just on the edge of consciousness, but it had been too fleeting to capture and investigate. Besides, she knew she hadn't fought in the wars.

However, she kept discovering new things all day, every day, to such a degree that even finding that memory wrong wouldn't have surprised her. Her talents seemed to just keep on growing and even Bastila, who was the self-proclaimed and official leader of this mission, felt the green-eyed monster walk around her a few times. Not to mention that everyone else regarded her as the de facto leader of the mission, which surprised her, but somehow, it came to her as naturally as Pazaak.

Sometimes she frightened herself with all the things she didn't know about herself or didn't seem to know.

But she would know, one day. She knew how to bide her time; she could wait for the darkness to lift.


	3. Sloth

**o.O.o**

**Sloth**

**o.O.o**

She was uneasy from the moment the planet they were headed for came into view.

It was, as usual, an inexplicable notion, like the strange _tingling_ she sometimes felt when she and Bastila fought enemies together. It was just… there, undefined, disappearing before she could be certain.

A scholar by nature, what she was intrigued by most of all was the possibility of a vast library in the Jedi enclave. The Order was very specific about who had the chance to view their knowledge, but she was confident that she could convince them to at least allow her in. that would be more than thanks enough for saving Bastila, no matter how the young Jedi tried to twist in the other way around. She didn't have the need to counter her tendency to claim the success as her own; she knew the truth, as did the crew, and perhaps Bastila did as well, in some distant part of her mind.

She had been expecting some quick word of thanks from the Jedi at best before Carth would give the order to head to the nearest Republic planet and check in at the local military base. Maybe a day or two to fulfill her yearning to see the books they likely had here. But a summons from the local Jedi Council was something beyond her calculations.

Bastila had announced it so formally, with an attempt at casual indifference, though she saw… _something_ in the Padawan that seem to escape the others. Resentment, to a certain degree, unease to a greater degree but, most of all, anxiety. Bastila tended to react differently when speaking to her, she realized. It was subtle, like when a small cloud covered part of the sun for a moment.

She didn't understand it, though. An audience with her specifically was a strange move. Her rank was low in the army; Carth was a legend, but she was practically a new recruit, with no true standing in the Republic. Yet they were requesting her, not him.

Perhaps it had something to do with her _visions_, as Bastila called them, but she didn't really understand why they simply didn't send a master or knight to explain things to her rather than treat her like they did.

The crew agreed with that notion, but also reminded her that Jedi weren't the sort of people who simply gave up. Besides, with the current scarcity of their presence throughout the Republic, it was a rare opportunity for her. If nothing else, they outranked her in a way, thus there wasn't any real way to refuse. And, as Carth put it, she might be able to get some information out of them they could then pass to the Republic, though somehow, she doubted that they would receive more than advice that made no sense and cryptic hints.

Her opinion of Jedi dropped by several points when the first approached her – with an air of what she clearly believed to be righteous astonishment, while it seemed only very comical huffing and puffing – and demanded to know why a Padawan such as her wasn't wearing the customary robes of the Jedi. Was she mocking their honored traditions, she demanded, by appearing like a common street thug?

This struck her as laughable, for some reason. This girl, barely as old as her, believed that she was her superior simply because she had devoted herself to an ascetic life of seclusion? Besides, the plain brown robe she was wearing was functional, but far from appealing. It also provided very little true protection from any kind of attack. In short, compared to the light armor she was wearing, the girl might as well have been naked in the case of an attack.

Nevertheless, she took note that the Jedi had identified her as one of her own Order without knowing anything of her past. Deciding to be cordial, she told the Jedi who she was. The mask of superiority fell from the girl's face, but at first, she was offended by the poor taste of the 'jest' at first. Then, she apologized, but it clearly struck her as odd.

It was worthy of noting, Carth suggested when he caught up with her, evidently intent on eavesdropping on the Council as much as possible. Bastila had already hinted at the possibility of her being Force Sensitive. This girl had outright said it.

To her utter shock, the Council seemed to be of the same opinion.

When she saw them, four Jedi Masters gathered together in their circular chamber, saw their faces, serene but somehow wary, it seemed that something buried deep within her was struggling for release. They were watching her without blinking and she almost thought they felt the strange sensation going through her and tensed.

Zhar, the one with a soothing voice, spoke plainly, but there was deep sadness in his eyes when he looked at her, mixed with inexplicable hope. She didn't understand that, but she understood that they were considering accepting her into training… as a Jedi.

Before she could open her mouth to say something – anything – the distrustful one, Vrook, objected. There was no proof of her ability and she was too old. With the latter, she might be forced to agree, but the former, she viewed as an insult, to some degree. Again, the _something_ within her swirled up, as if she had never been so demeaned in her entire life. The Jedi were watching her far more intently than she realized.

She refused to be a pawn. She refused to divide the galaxy into black and white, as the Jedi did. It was likely that they had never been more shocked than when she voiced her polite refusal for the training.

After all she had done to aid Bastila on this mission, she deserved a time-out. Clearly the army wasn't for her; she would ask to be reassigned to diplomatic service on some peaceful, faraway world. Hell, with her skills, she could probably easily secure a job as a bodyguard and translator of a Senator, which certainly paid better than her current job. Plus, she wouldn't have to wear uniforms.

Jedi training wasn't for her – she might have raw talent, but certainly not the patience of it. Such things took years and her attention lasted only on things that interested her. Sure, Jedi were fascinating, but that didn't mean she wanted to become one. Perhaps she wasn't that good a person, to sacrifice herself for others.

Perhaps it was simple sloth. She didn't have the patience to sit around in a room all day and meditate on the secrets of the universe. She was too lazy to devote her life to helping others, too indifferent to the suffering of one particular creature when much more was at stake. She was a materialist, a pragmatic, the kind of person who knew how to survive. She was incapable of ignoring the call of the world like the Jedi were. There were things to do, people to see… idleness wasn't her style – it was that of the Jedi.

They were guilty of sloth as well, she realized. They were uncaring, unwilling to care… or simply lazy, one might say, if critique should be directed their way.

Were they alike if their sin was similar? She didn't think so. But she was willing to wait another day to see what conclusion they had come to, what arguments they would present her with. She wanted to see if they truly were different from 'normal' people, these keepers of the peace, or if they were simply more flawed than any of those they claimed to protect.


	4. Diligence

**o.O.o**

**Diligence**

**o.O.o**

In the morning, the choice was taken away from her.

She had dreamed again, this time of two people who she knew by appearance only. The smaller, slender figure that had been struck by the bolts of energy in her previous vision, cloaked from head to toe, could only be one person. And its companion, so painfully young, with innocence etched in every line of his features, save for his eyes, which seemed to have seen the farthest reaches of suffering, was also unmistakable.

But somehow, the figure of Revan was far more imposing, far more frightening, far more memorable. She remembered that sentiment even when she woke up with a start, sweat pouring down her face. Though Malak's eyes had passed once or twice the spot where her vision was coming from, it was the silent and masked and _dead_ Sith Lord that seemed more real to her.

Perhaps it was because she had more respect for the deceased conqueror. No matter how much anyone would want to insult the former Sith master, no one could deny that Revan had been a genius in every sense of the word. She couldn't help but admire such a person, even if they stood against her own side.

But no, that wasn't the reason. It was the silence. It was the fact that Revan hadn't spoken a word throughout the vision, ignoring Malak, focused on something thoroughly different.

The Council already knew when she rushed to them – Carth had told her that much when she had emerged from the ship, pale and shaking, before seeing if she was all right. Of course she wasn't; no one would be after experiencing such a sight.

But when she was told that this was a sure sign that she had to be trained, she reeled back somewhat. There was something going on, something they weren't telling her. These visions… something was wrong with them. She didn't know much about active usage of the Force, but somehow, she didn't believe that the events on Taris had been intense enough for a… a bond of any kind to form between her and Bastila.

Yet they were so confident, telling her how important this was… and Jedi weren't supposed to lie, were they? Perhaps she was simply shaken, overwhelmed by the information and the sudden change in her usually calm and organized life…

She silenced her own doubts by asking a single question she needed answered: if she complied, if she trained hard and became a Jedi… would these visions vanish? They were helpful, yes, but they were frightening her and they were only vague flashes that didn't seem to point anywhere save for the past.

They avoided the answer in silence, but eventually Zhar spoke up. They couldn't be certain, as the Force acted according to its own will. Trying to mute the visions was nonsense, but she could learn to control them.

It was enough for her. She agreed.

The next few weeks would have been hell itself without the comfort of that news. She received no further visions of the past; most evenings, she collapsed into dreamless sleep, exhausted.

Weapons training was harsh and not even Zhar with his soft-spoken guidance could dull the blow entirely. Bastila was assigned as her sparring partner, which she didn't necessarily consider a good thing. It would only boost the Padawan's already unnecessary ego. However, she had no choice in the matter.

Since Bastila was unused to swords with an actual weigh, they were more or less evenly matched, though the Force always managed to tip the balance in the end. However, loss was a part of learning, as Zhar would say, and in several weeks, Bastila was having great trouble avoiding getting hit at least once or twice during a battle.

Meditation was her strong suit. Once she learned to tone out the distractions of the world, she could focus her will into the Force and bend it to her whim. At first, her power had been erratic, but powerful, and slowly, surely, it began to obey. It frightened even her, how the Force swirled into being around her and how quickly she had forgotten how things had been without it. It was almost like returning into the arms of a long-abandoned lover who had been waiting patiently, lovingly, for this moment.

In a month, she could easily challenge any Padawan in the enclave with her power. Again, she produced awe and jealousy. Vrook was the first among her critics, always. Nothing good would come of this, he would always say, especially when she was around to hear it. The Force had to be earned through training and hard work and here, this child, without any kind of devotion to the Order thus far, was progressing rather like a highly efficient expert thief in a luxurious mansion.

Her companions had various explanations at hand, but Carth remained obviously distrustful of the Council and these _convenient_ _coincidences_. He also lost part of the trust he had managed to build up towards the enclave's _newest apprentice_, as she was known. Somehow, the will of the Force simply wasn't explanation enough for him.

Mission thought it was weird, but cool. The others were mostly indifferent to the notion. It changed nothing, as far as they were concerned.

In seven weeks, she had constructed her lightsaber, examining the marvelous object with apparent glee. She had always wished to see how these magnificent weapons worked and the ability to construct one and take it apart at her leisure was exciting. She managed to get it right on the first try and was likely the only Jedi around who could claim to know exactly what was for what even after finishing this task.

She was accepted as a Padawan once she had redeemed a fallen Jedi, Juhani. She didn't really understand the purpose of this test; personally, the Dark Side struck her as a slightly blind ideology. She knew well that the Force had a will of its own and to claim to control it fully was utter folly.

Then, believing that this was proof enough of her abilities, they finally allowed her to investigate the place in her vision, an ancient ruin. A Jedi had already been sent to investigate, one she had bet before in the courtyard and talked with for a while. Bastila was to go with her and Carth, who was getting thoroughly irritated by sitting around and waiting for the Jedi, decided to tag along as well.

Where a full-fledged Jedi had failed, she succeeded, without any kind of vision this time, even upon touching the ancient star map within the ruins. She brought back news that the Jedi thought were vital for the war effort, based on her vision.

But to send her and Bastila to search for the rest of the chart was a confusing move. Raw talent was no substitute for experience, yet she had no chance to question the decision.

All that she hoped for was that in the end, she would understand the significance of her visions, because she _knew_ there was some. She would work tirelessly, hunting the maps throughout the galaxy, if need be, simply to discover her answer.


	5. Gluttony

**o.O.o**

**Gluttony**

**o.O.o**

Greed had never been her forte, but when she began drinking deep from the endless fount of the Force, that changed.

The power it offered was almost intoxicating, blinding, and somehow, it came to her with natural ease. No matter what Bastila might preach about restraint, it was obvious whose potential was growing faster. She was learning to control her powers through trial and error and soon reached the limit of what Bastila could show her throughout their enforced meditative sessions.

The other Jedi seemed somewhat frightened by this, though she hid it well beneath a mask of indignation. She bristled whenever her 'ward' displayed signs of a new power and showed her discouraging nature whenever she mastered a new skill, but eventually, Bastila seemed to be the one learning from _her_, not the other way around. Of course the young Jedi would never admit it; she regarded herself as the one in charge. But the visions continued and Bastila could only put up appearances of superiority for so long, especially when treated cordially and subjected to seeing good deeds on the way.

Of course there were moments of wickedness. But, most of all, there were moments of understanding.

There were even times when she wondered whether she had been some sort of Force adept before. These skills of hers seemed to be like memories, resurfacing from the darkness that had claimed her mind during her times of amnesia. Perhaps in a past life, she would joke, pretending not to notice how slightly green Bastila always went at the mention of this while the others laughed.

It wasn't that Bastila was a bad teacher – it was that she was simply too quick a learner. By the time they had uncovered the first Star Map, even the somewhat high-nosed Padawan seemed to relax around her and not press with her teachings as much as she did before, though at times, she asked odd questions and seemed far too relieved when she chose the harder path, the path a Jedi would choose when solving problems.

She didn't mind. It was more of a practical decision than anything. It meant that she would be given access to the knowledge of the Jedi, and that was something she hungered for. Every bit and piece of information was to be stored, memorized, and then used at a convenient time. She wanted – _needed _– more.

The dreams no longer brought her migraines, but she had the strangest feeling when purchasing HK-47, the translator droid that would help them solve the Sand People problem on Tatooine. Though Bastila was against buying the droid, something in her urged her to do so, with apparent glee. She found she liked the droid even before learning of its more amusing quirks, though she couldn't explain it. And she laughed whenever it made comments about meatbags or percentages of slaughter.

Bastila disapproved of that, naturally, but somehow, she didn't care as much as she should.

When she first experienced the so-called power of the Dark Side, she was almost terrified.

It was an unspecified moment in an almost unremarkable battle… except for the fact that it involved a grave injury on Mission's part. Strangely, she felt more anger over the fact that someone was injured on her team than the fact that a particular person was injured. It was just a moment – that was all it took – and suddenly, flashes of electricity were consuming her body, roaring into life with sickening cracks the world seemed to stop around her and everyone watched with immediate horror, most of all Bastila and Juhani.

It took the quickly shouted words and guidance of both the more seasoned Jedi to get her _power_ under control and stop the sudden rush of adrenaline pounding on her senses. She had almost collapsed afterwards and they had to call it a day, as she was not fit to participate in further battles; at least Bastila claimed so.

She was shivering, trembling when returning to the Ebon Hawk. It had been a call just on the edge of hearing and she had reached for it without hesitation, like a drowning person does for a helping hand. It was… terrifying. Yet at the same time, she hadn't felt any kind of blind rage overtake her, as Jedi claimed the Dark Side would do to a person.

Instead of finding a repenting sinner, Bastila found her practicing that power, trying to find out how to call it again with less… drastic effects. She received the greatest scolding of the millennium for that stunt, but, to Bastila's secret fright, didn't acknowledge it as much as she should do. Instead, she continued practicing her power. After all, she claimed, powers and abilities weren't innately evil; only the intent with which they were used was.

A talk with Juhani gave her more insight into the nature of the Dark Side, but it didn't dissuade her. She was intent on exploring this new aspect of the Force, troubling the Cathar Jedi.

Bastila would lecture her without any results whenever she had the time; Juhani could worry to no avail. She even spoke with Mission and apologized for frightening her, but the effect was the same; she continued her training.

The darkness was lifting, slowly but surely. She couldn't possibly learn this quick without either falling to the Dark Side, Bastila tried to warn. She ignored it. Skills like this were best avoided, Juhani would note. Carth always kept eying her warily after a battle if she used one of these powers. She paid it no heed after the first few times.

All she knew was that she wanted – needed – power. The purpose of it was escaping her, but she would find it, for certain. It was simply a matter of waiting and learning along the way.

She offered to help Bastila and Juhani learn these things. The human Padawan refused stubbornly, but Juhani, still feeling her anger getting the best of her at times, agreed. With specific training, she managed to gain some measure of control over her outbursts, though she couldn't yet channel them into power without having her control slip. But it helped her, she claimed, and she was less hesitant to learn more upon seeing that her teacher managed to get things work for her.

Bastila might adamantly refuse to participate in this, but she watched things very closely. She hungered for control, not power, for knowing that she was the one with the last word. It was simply gluttony of a different kind, one that couldn't be sated when there was someone with greater strength around. This was something that frightened her, but it could hardly be denied.


	6. Temperance

**o.O.o**

**Temperance**

**o.O.o**

Kashyyyk was a thoroughly different experience from the sand-covered planet of Tatooine, in more than just a climate change. It opened her eyes to politics, petty disputes and various other tricks and taunts. Not that she had been ignorant of such things before, but the scope of them was overwhelming on this seemingly rural planet.

Contrary to what her companions believed, she wasn't entirely opposed to Czerka; the corporation might not be the friendliest entity one could encounter in the universe, but they certainly knew how to get the job done. It was the people it employed that were lacking standards and it was for that reason that she had chosen to drive them off the planet. Another was her respect for Zaalbar; she still had trouble understanding his life-debt to its full extent, at times believing that it hinted at slavery, which she wanted no part of. She had been wrong on that account; there were no more fundamentally different things in the universe.

Slavery was a disdainful concept. They were a civilized galaxy, so why not use droids, constructs, machines when possible instead of employing captive humans? The reason was simple: money. Slaves, illegal as they were, received no wages and required only minimum 'maintenance', whilst droids required daily attention.

Juhani was taking it worst of them all; she had recounted her experiences of Taris and of her own would-be slavery. After Kashyyyk, she became more certain that this mission was a just cause, simply because of their leader's decision to oppose slavery.

Mission noted that she really didn't know too many humans that spoke the language of Wookiees and one day, when they were preparing to leave, idly asked her where she had learned it and for what purpose. She gave the name of her school back on Deralia, but, as always when she spoke of herself, something within her screamed against the idea. Moreover, the purpose of that decision eluded her somewhat. No; it was more like she didn't remember precisely when she had made the choice, other than knowing that she had made it for a reason.

She recounted the tale of her shuttle crash to general sympathy and Bastila was quick to point out that there was a possibility that her subconscious self hadn't yet come to terms with the after-effects of the amnesia and thus she wasn't able to explain some of her own behavior. But the looks she received from some of their companions suggested that they didn't quite believe that.

Jolee Bindo especially seemed amused by something he refused to explain. And whenever he looked at her, his eyes seemed both amused and saddened for the briefest moment before his 'annoyed old man' façade resumed and he parried her questions with half-senile words. But he was far more aware of things than he allowed the rest of them to see, she was certain. No one with such an active grip on the Force could be entirely senile.

He never answered any of her questions with anything other than a story and part of her was beginning to think that he was trying to tell her something, teach her something. Of course he would never admit as much, but she learned nonetheless.

She was discovering new things about herself as well.

It wasn't as much a surge of power as an internal enlightenment, perhaps. She was beginning to shape her opinions more like a Jedi would, or at least from the point of view of one. It was strange, really; she didn't wake up with the thought that she was part of the Order, nor did she go to sleep with it. It became a quiet presence in her mind, however, and somehow, she was glad to _belong_. To have some place to return to, even if the Jedi weren't exactly the kind of people who approved of familial attachments.

Speaking of attachments, she was also becoming aware that her usual witty conversations with Carth were evolving somewhat. Once the Republic pilot had understood that she wasn't part of any grand scheme of the Jedi – or at least not actively, since they remained tight-lipped – they became relatively fast friends again, though the hint that their conversations weren't entirely platonic remained. She wasn't a fool; she knew that her features were appealing, though she had never put much weight to that fact. Her other strengths overshadowed the physical aspect.

Jedi form no attachments. A Knight must always be able to make an impartial judgment, no matter what might be at stake. Personal feelings have nothing to do with the way of the Jedi. She knew all that – and Bastila occasionally reminded her of that with a worried glance – but she didn't draw a line in her relationship with Carth. As far as she was concerned, he was an interesting man to converse with, despite his slightly paranoid nature, a very handy ally, especially if their melee fighters couldn't close in and, admittedly, an attractive man; though he was somewhat older than her and his fashion sense left a few things to be desired at times.

One thing at a time, however. She had a lot of things to get through and deal with before she could speculate about men. This was actually something she hadn't considered at all when her Jedi training began; the fact that she was cutting herself off from the possibility of a romantic relationship. It hadn't seemed important back then, but now…

Now the galaxy was at stake because of another _man_ with a superiority complex and she was thinking about her non-existent love life. Wonderful. The fate of the galaxy was obviously in good hands.

Her priority, in any case, were the maps. She would have killed to be able to take one of them apart and see how they worked. The Star Forge itself sounded very exciting too. She had several ideas what it might do already, but she was willing to wait and see what kind of machine or power source it might be; in any case, it would be worth seeing, of that she was certain.

How was she special, though? Why had the holo in the Shadowlands reacted to her… and why had it deemed her unfamiliar with the environment? She had answered the questions correctly, if cruelly to Bastila's ears, but nevertheless, she had the oddest feeling upon seeing that creature, the alien hologram. Just a tinge of guilt hidden in immense determination.

Something was shattering within her. She couldn't… couldn't… but no one else would…!

Mission and Carth found her like that in the crew quarters, kneeling on the floor, clutching her head in pain and muttering something in an alien language neither of them new. The Twi'lek managed to wake her from the trance, watching her with worried eyes as she lied that it was nothing more than a migraine. Neither believed her; Mission remained with her while Carth stormed off to have a serious talk with Bastila, who, according to Juhani, had turned ashen in the face upon hearing this news.

Everyone demanded some kind of explanation, because there was obviously something going on, but the Jedi remained tight-lipped. She only repeated that their leader was vital to the war effort due to the bond between them; nothing more. She didn't even bother to explain the nature of the bond or whence it came.

But in the end, it was their recovered leader who asked everyone for patience. All things in moderation, she said. Everything would come at its appointed time… even the answers she needed.


	7. Pride

**o.O.o**

**Pride**

**o.O.o**

By the time they uncovered the fourth Star Map in the depths of Manaan, it was no more than a simple fact to say that she had progressed a long way since her assignment to the Endar Spire. In fact, now that they were so close, that only one map was remaining, she had begun to think about both the past and future.

She definitely saw her closest future with the Jedi. While there were many things she didn't yet know, she had come to view Zhar, at least, as a suggorrate father figure, or a mentor she could come to care for greatly. She wanted to return to Dantooine, receive the praise she no doubt deserved by now for accomplishing her task and then resume her training. There was so much she had yet to do; first and foremost, she intended to plunder the library and archives of the Dantooine enclave. They contained great knowledge, she was certain, and by now, she ought to have a right to access it.

Then, she would continue perfecting her lightsaber combat skills. The few Dark Jedi they had encountered in Anchorhead and on the Great Walkway hadn't been too experienced, but she wished to be prepared. There was something wonderfully aesthetic about lightsaber combat and she yearned to master and study its forms. There were so many things she could try now and she knew she had sufficient talent to achieve them.

They were caught by distinct surprise when ambushed by Malak's apprentice in person upon returning to the surface, but in retrospect, that was to be expected. More impressive was the fact that she had been the one to take him down in one-on-one combat, successfully impressing even Canderous, who had already idly asked her once or twice if she didn't happen to have Mandalorian ancestors – which would, in his mind, explain her aptitude for combat. Bastila had dismissed that notion rather angrily for such a simple suggestion, though Bastila tended to react badly to anything involving Mandalorians.

Perhaps it was her own inaction during that war biting at her conscience, hurting her from the inside. The young Padawan would always remind them of the importance of her unique ability, which led to the natural question; why was she here, risking her life in field work, when she should be carefully hidden? There were Sith on Manaan that had recognized her once or twice, but never had the chance to make their move. When they had broken into the Sith base, she had been recognized and the Dark Jedi Master had wanted her alive.

The mysterious bond was no longer explanation enough. In fact, Juhani suggested that it was possible that this bond was more one-sided than anything; it meant that Bastila had access to her visions, but nothing vice-versa. After all, she noted, when had _she_ ever witnessed a dream or premonition of the other Jedi when it was clear that these visions stemmed from her, as she had been the first to receive them?

She resolved to study Bonds more upon returning to Dantooine. They had to allow her into the library now.

In retrospect, their body count was impressive – with Czerka and the renegade Wookiees, they had also dispatched of several Dark Jedi, even Malak's apprentice and the infamous Calo Nord. Numbers had always been on their side, but nevertheless, these victories were highly encouraging. It was as if a guardian spirit – or the Force – was watching over them.

Relationships between the group were also becoming less tense; though everyone besides Jolee, who didn't care, was unnerved by the presence of HK-47 and Canderous, Mission wasn't being as snappish to Bastila as she had been previously; Zaalbar looked at great ease nowadays and was always polite when answering. Juhani, after an incident with a former… acquaintance… on Kashyyyk showed nothing but gratitude and even Carth was starting to accept that perhaps his notion of mistrust wasn't entirely justified.

And when that passed, he suddenly seemed far more relaxed and always smiled when she made a witty comeback, even when chiding her. They were on the threshold between friendship and something different. And in the end, it was Carth who asked her to consider crossing it. He said he knew about the policy of the Jedi, but knew also that she was exceptionally strong and innately good. And there were tales of such Jedi that had loved and become better people for it. He wasn't asking for her to love him, even; it was a simple plea to allow him to stay with her, to protect her, so that he may continue living beyond the quest for dark revenge he had embarked on so long ago.

She accepted without hesitation, without reservations, knowing that they, too, had a connection, different from what she shared with Bastila.

The Padawan herself was beginning to acknowledge it, but her approach to dissuading them from such promises was different than expected. A change had come over the brash young girl; she confessed that she was lost in the great plans of the masters and now knew that she was not suitable for this mission. Her dream of being promoted to Knighthood because of this had been folly, but this defeat made it all the more bitter. Suddenly, she was only human, not the famed Jedi every Sith in the galaxy knew and despised.

And perhaps it was in that moment that they made peace, the two women, and accepted that they needed each other to continue moving on. All the same, Bastila remained humbled and strangely ashamed by her former treatment of her friend, as she now hoped to call her.

Friend. She couldn't remember having too many friends, although there had been someone very important to her that she couldn't quite recall… but she knew that person was dead, so she didn't dwell on it as much as she out to. She was proud of the present, proud of herself and her achievements, proud of her crew, her comrades, her friends.

It was too perfect to last; looking back, pride had always been the greatest sin. It was about time for the Force or the heavens to demand retribution for too much good luck on her part – or what seemed to be that.

Retrospective was the greatest punishment of them all.


	8. Humility

**o.O.o**

** Humility**

** o.O.o**

When the Sith Interdictor captured them, she felt a wave of panic sweep the ship. It was almost tangible and very much present, though no one wanted to show it, obviously. Everyone wanted to be brave and believe that they would be getting out of this alive, though by what miracle, no one could guess. After all, there was a high chance that they would be put in separate cell blocks and kept isolated from any kind of contact. It was equally obvious that Bastila would be taken away from the rest, Carth being the second likely on that list and, as Bastila affirmed, she herself was another very probable candidate.

She didn't understand that suggestion, though. The datapads of the Dark Jedi had mentioned her only as Bastila's 'Jedi companion', though it could have meant Juhani as well. However, her description had been there as well, to such astounding detail that she wondered how Calo Nord had managed to get that good a look at her during their very short meeting. Unless he was exceptionally good at memorizing a high quantity of details about someone who wasn't at all significant at the time, she had no idea where all the details on the datapad had come from.

It contained everything; from mundane details such as her height and hair color to astonishing facts such as the way she usually wore her hair, colors she was likely to be wearing, the particular shade of her eyes and skin and how she walked or held her weapon. It was nothing short of astonishing. Not even the people closest to her would likely be able to tell such things from two brief encounters.

Frightening, really, what simple observation could provide.

When they finally formed a plan, she felt a dead weight of dread sink to the bottom of her stomach. The Hawk was a smuggling ship, to be certain, but the only compartment for such purposes they had been able to locate was too small to even hold a person of Mission's stature, which was saying something. Besides, it was highly unlikely that the soldiers wouldn't find them when they had specific orders about their captives.

As predicted, she, Bastila and Carth were the first to be arrested; the Jedi's weapons were the first to be confiscated and, to be on the safe side, Force suppression collars – torture devices which deafened any Jedi to the Force completely and thus couldn't be removed – were quickly put around her and Bastila's necks. The rest of the Jedi on-board apparently weren't high-profile enough to be worth the bother, particularly when one was already invisible and the other had carefully slipped into his role of a senile old man.

Just because the Sith had information about the three main enemies aboard the ship didn't mean that they had profiles of all their companions at hand.

Apparently, they were also scheduled for interrogation; the Admiral came to do so personally before, as he claimed, his Lord would arrive. She wasn't afraid of this little soldier; he was a small man, a puppet with the misfortune of still having a conscience after being converted into a zealot of the wrong side of the war. But the mention of Malak was unnerving. She had a distinct feeling that she _didn't _want to see him which had nothing to do with the fact that it would likely mean her death.

Again, the _something_ struggled, thinking with the speed of light, thinking of how to escape.

The interrogation itself was a blur to her. She only half-heard the questions asked and the screams of her companions. Something was wrong with her, that was an established fact by now. Something was happening to her and she didn't like it. It was almost like having a parasite in her own body, though she knew it wasn't so. Perhaps it was a natural mental reaction to the _darkness_ lifting. Perhaps this was a sign that she was going to be all right.

Even if she allowed her companions to drown out her doubts with their broken voices.

When she woke, she realized that she hadn't even noticed when she had passed out in pain. She had hardly even felt the tortures. It was, in a way, selfish of her not to think of the pains of her friends, but she knew that nothing would have come out of answering. This wasn't an interrogation. It was almost as if…

As if Saul had wanted to see them on their knees, _begging… _though why her? He half-hinted at knowing things about her that she didn't, but it made no sense.

Past history with Malak? She had never met the Sith Lord and wasn't a recruit when he had been a Jedi. The wars were new to her. he had enjoyed her confusion, though he refused to answer her questions and was frustrated with her seeming calm.

Once they got rescued, this was the first thing she asked Bastila when the others dashed off to do their part: did she know what the Admiral meant?

Bastila responded with only silence. Then, after she had her lightsaber back, she couldn't handle the intense look she was receiving and answered with less than her usual courage that she would explain everything once they were safely off the ship. It was a reasonable request, so she agreed. Perhaps now, she would understand why she had been sent off on the mission. The visions had become frequent suddenly, sometimes only fragments with unintelligible background sounds, sometimes only feelings or incoherent thoughts.

Instinctively, she was becoming increasingly more certain that these visions weren't exactly what the Jedi Council described them as. It seemed more like… fragments. Fragments of memory.

She was a bit stunned to find that the layout of the ship was very simple to navigate – or, more likely, she was familiar with it. Her steps began to slow as they advanced through the corridors. Had those ill-tongued gossips in the fleet been correct, after all? Was she… but no, that wasn't possible. She wasn't _conscious_ of being an infiltrator of the Republic fleet… then why was everything so familiar? Why was she…?

She was hesitating, but her reflexes saved her time and time again. Carth noticed her general unease and nudged her gently when they finished dealing with a particularly nasty party of Sith, heavily-armed with grenades. It was distracting, this mental debate. And Bastila had promised to tell her… she promised…

Waiting a few more hours was only a matter of patience, which she had. She could wait. And perhaps she would not come to hate herself if her fears proved very real. But she couldn't imagine them to be. it was too unreal, far-fetched, even, but recalling how the Jedi had acted around her and how Bastila always seemed to preach about avoiding rashness and impulses…

All she was suggesting that it made sense.

But how and when? The shuttle crash? No, she distinctly remembered that sickening flash of pain and then white light… white light… she had nearly died that day. That wasn't a thing she could deny. And she had been allowed to live; she had to respect that.

This second chance – if it was that – wouldn't be wasted. Not by her.


	9. Wrath

**o.O.o**

**Wrath**

**o.O.o**

It was the moment when Carth looked at her as if she was ten times worse than the recently deceased Sith Admiral that confirmed things to her. Bastila's urging that she would explain things and that this was the only way, that they had no other choice, didn't help things much. It was clear to her now that the sudden flashes of memory had some kind of connection to her and not Bastila; their bond might be genuine, but there was some deeper mystery at work here. And she was willing to bet her lightsaber that it had something to do with the _something_ within her.

She knew that the Force wasn't a thing to be trifled with. Contrary to what the Jedi or the Sith thought, she believed it to be a separate entity, a sentient being, even. Not just a power or a servant as those two ideologies claimed. No, the Force was an ally with its own will, its own strength and its own mind, in a way. She knew that attempting to tame it against this will would only result in treachery and facing it with passivity would never give you all that you needed from it.

The Force was more powerful than any of them could imagine; the Sith were wrong in thinking that the power was theirs as were the Jedi. Those strong in the Force were powerful because they were able to _convince_ the Force to act in their favor and fight with them. She was one of these, obviously; strong in the Force and able to call upon its support. To have the Force turned against you was a horrible thing. It could destroy you physically, certainly, but worse, it could break your spirit and mold your mind into something different entirely... if used effectively.

She didn't know _how_ she knew; she simply did. She understood the Force – and that was something no ancient tome or book could teach. And it was becoming increasingly obvious to her that while she had prodigious skill, it was impossible to acquire this measure of control in a few months. Innate skill was only part of anyone's success. No, she had most definitely been a Force practitioner before, only she couldn't remember it. Had the Force been used against her? Was she really…?

She was beginning to question everything she remembered and believed in. It was her nature to be meticulous and crafty, but suddenly, she wasn't even certain what her nature was. Obviously, the Jedi had something to do with this. They had chosen to train her so that they could… what? Reform her? Control her? Tame her? That meant that she had been a person of significance… among the Sith, that was. The notion didn't seem completely unrealistic now. Her command of the so-called Dark Side wasn't as difficult as for the others. So then…

Then maybe there had never been any shuttle crash. Maybe… maybe that was just an implanted memory, she realized with distinct fear. But that would be an extreme measure for the pacifistic Jedi. No one but the strongest and most skilled healers should risk tampering with the sentient mind to this degree. And even then...

But it made sense to her logical mind. If she had been able to come to this conclusion, that likely meant that her nature and personality hadn't changed; only the memories were different.

Memories; the snippets in time that could create the foundation of a person. But arranged erratically, they have no true meaning. What really matters is the timing. If they are rearranged into a temporal sequence, they outline the basics of a sentient mind.

She was distracted now and her companions were beginning to notice. Anger was finding its way into her mind and it was showing on her Force signature. She disliked being used. She hated having people lie to her. And, worst of all, she had already tried and managed to put Bastila into the 'friend' category. Having been lied to so directly, she didn't really think that fit any longer. Unless she had a very good explanation for all this once they got out, there would be trouble.

But it was the moment when they were mere dozens of feet away from the hangar that truly frightened her. Bastila sensed it a few seconds later and went white as a sheet, though she valiantly tried not to show it. Carth was glancing at both of them with distinct suspicion, but he seemed genuinely unnerved by the fact that the two strongest members of their group were acting so afraid.

When the doors opened and Malak walked in, an image from a waking nightmare, she thought her head was going to explode. Images began to swirl in front of her eyes, filled with color and memory, though she never lost sight of the reality of the moment.

She saw Malak… no. It was the man he once was, known by another name, with courage and devotion and friendship in his eyes when they glanced at her. Unconditional love that defied category or reason. She saw worlds and plots and faces in a great whirlpool of reminiscence and Jedi, hundreds of them, their colorful blades clashing against the weapons of their enemies.

But it wasn't until Malak added the final piece to the puzzle with a crashing intensity that set the card towers the Jedi had so carefully build crashing down that things became completely apparent to her. He then continued his explanation of things to her, the details which she had already managed to work out. To her right, Bastila was quickly countering things with her own explanations for the actions of the Jedi Council. Both voices were drowning each other out in her mind, a background noise against the events of her past.

It wasn't as if everything she had been came flooding back in one intense flash upon being told who she was. But things did begin to click into place. Such knowledge and memory… she had to have been standing there stock-still for the better part of a minute, her eyes vacant, her face the image of silent fright. Malak seemed to find it all very amusing, particularly her expression.

The mother of all migraines had apparently chosen her for its host, because she wasn't able to completely process all the information that came flooding back to her. it was as if a dam in her mind had been broken by the sheer pressure of the water it was to contain and anything beyond it was flooded with such a quantity of water that there was no way to discern how things had been before.

All she was aware of that there had been a plan… a plan to save the Republic… and that was only possible through its complete reformation. The Senate would do nothing; there was only one way: destruction and reconstruction. And no one else would dare… no one else had the strength… but she couldn't remember the _why_ or what this was supposed to accomplish… there was an Empire...

Somewhere along the line, things had become horribly messed up. There had been a battle on a starship, yes, and a crash… Malak… and then the white light… Bastila… as she readied her weapon… it was inevitable… as it was to be…

When she raised her head, she managed to adapt to the situation. There would be time for dealing with the chinks in her plan later on. She didn't want to kill Malak – behind all her planning and strategies, she recognized the faint glimmer of long-buried affection for the single person she would have trusted with her life in a time that seemed ages ago – but if he wasn't able to get it into his thick head that she might be forced to do just that if he refused to stand down, there was no helping the situation.

She would mourn, of course, but then again, she had killed him long ago, the single person in the universe who could claim to truly know her. All that remained now was a mockery of him. A mockery of her failure.

Her voice felt somewhat heavier than usual when she quietly thanked Bastila for saving her life. The fact that she wouldn't slay the Jedi at this exact moment for subjecting her to this trial was to be a repayment of that debt in full. It was easy to make it seem as though only her pride was wounded; until she knew more of… herself, her plan… she had to be what someone like Revan was expected to be like.

Then, quite calmly, she ordered Malak to stand down or face her currently really bad mood. One would think that was a simple choice.


	10. Kindness

**o.O.o**

**Kindness**

**o.O.o**

Malak seemed to realize that he had made the wrong choice the moment she almost succeeded in electrocuting him mid-battle when she managed to knock him off-balance. He fought with new craftiness this time, using her teachings as a guide; that training spars and true battles were fundamentally different. That in a real battle, there was nothing one couldn't use. But using the moment Bastila recovered from the paralysis to grip her by the throat and smash her entire weight against the wall was thoroughly cowardly, no matter how one looked at it.

And Bastila, the _foolish girl_, seemed to think that she wouldn't be able to get out of this little inconvenience. But how she expected that rushing into the battle and challenging Malak would help them any was doomed to remain a mystery to Revan. She was still somewhat distracted; the implanted memories were resisting somewhat while giving way to the new ones, but she was able to discern what was real and what wasn't by now. Now if she could only help her mind arrange the recollections correctly somehow, so that she could see what she needed to see…

But it was to end differently than she planned this time. Once she got back to her feet and grabbed her lightsaber, quite ready to shove Bastila out of the way and finish what Malak had started, it turned out to be too late. Perhaps it was Bastila who decided to be noble and sacrifice herself, but that seemed doubtful; she seemed to have trouble even holding her ground against Malak, let alone using the Force.

No, it was _him_. He sealed the door in her face. There was a certain amount of grim satisfaction in Revan, knowing that her former friend had gained certain insight into battle strategy, knowing when he was outmatched.

It didn't change the cowardice of his actions in the least, but it was a brave gamble. He was willing to let his old master and single possible nemesis escape for the sake of detaining Bastila. Her Battle Meditation was still the key to destroying the Republic. Perhaps she should be insulted, but Malak was underestimating her in this moment. With her status and – he wished – power stripped of her, her memory gone, she wasn't in a position to command the Republic fleet any longer.

She was _dead_.

Once safely back at the Ebon Hawk, having escaped the Leviathan, Revan wished nothing more than for a refresher and a bed. After all, the mind had a tendency to recuperate when consciousness wasn't in the way. Carth was the one who stepped into her path, bravely, she supposed, because she was still rather disgruntled. He had quickly related the story to the others, who had all made it safely off the Leviathan, and, apparently, this was the moment when she was supposed to express sympathy and reinforce team spirit.

No, wait, that wasn't it. Carth seemed to think that this was the moment she was supposed to bravely confess her true identity, the hidden dirty little secret of the Jedi and furiously repent for her non-existent sins. Oh.

Revan wasn't entirely certain what she was supposed to make of all this. The Jedi had proven to be highly desperate in doing this to her. On one hand, they claimed that her mind was too destroyed to restore her true self. On the other, they weren't beyond creating a little puppet whose strings they could carefully pull. They could have simply restored her mind and slowly given her information on who she was and her memories would have returned on their own accord. In a way, she was thankful for their no death penalty policy, but this setback had cost her precious time; not only that, it might cost them the entire Republic. Malak, bless his brute force strategies, was doing an admirable job of destroying her carefully laid out plans.

It was rather like smashing the perfect formation of pieces on a dejarik board with a club.

She looked at the crew, face after face. She remembered them, of course, as the memories not conflicting with her true identity had no cause to disappear after her revelation. They were a peculiar bunch, to be certain, but she supposed she cared about them in her own way. In any case, discarding them wasn't a good idea, as they all were useful in their own way.

Instead of wasting her breath on an act she wouldn't mean anyway, she did the logical thing; walking up to her dear HK-47, she said a few well-chosen words in several alien languages, activating the homing system and taking care with the clearing up of her identity this way. At least someone was glad to see her return, she thought with a dejected inner sigh. She had accepted this fate, knowing it was for the good of thousands, millions, even… but even she was only human. At times, she wished for nothing more than to be as blissfully ignorant as the rest of them.

But she had seen the face of her enemy, the one who had bent and broken her to his will... and he would never be allowed to gain another victory over her. The Empire would never reach those under her protection, and its stone-eyed lord would rue the day he dared force her to her knees.

At times, she believed in the single line of the Sith Code: The Force Shall Free Me. Because if there was no death; only the Force… then death and the Force were the same and both would liberate her of the terrible knowledge she had gathered over the years. It was an almost welcome alternative, even though she had come this far.

Everyone was mildly astonished by the news; that is to say, almost everyone. T3-M4, being a droid, didn't react to that in almost any way. Droids didn't hold grudges, as Mission wisely stated. Jolee claimed to know from the very beginning, though he defended his actions by saying that it wasn't his place to tell her. it fit into his senile old man spiel quite well, despite Carth's obvious disapproval. The only one other than HK-47 that seemed enthusiastic about this revelation was Canderous. He didn't doubt this truth for a second and if he saw that there was a new calculative sharpness to her eyes, he didn't say so.

Mission was handling her own surprise in a rather unique way; she asked Revan if she remembered anything about being Revan; anything at all. It would have been a good moment to lie, but not strategically well on the long run. They already knew about the visions she and Bastila shared… so Revan decided to use that to her advantage. She decided to spare the young girl unnecessary fear by saying that there were only disorganized bits and pieces floating in her mind; flashes. It seemed to soothe her accordingly and her Wookiee friend agreed that his life-debt was to her current incarnation, not the previous one.

It showed only how superb her charade had become. At times, even she believed it.

The only one who lashed out against this was Carth, claiming that it was a clear lie. He had seen the change come over her on the Leviathan, he said. Names held power and it seemed that hers had opened a door in her soul that had been carefully sealed to that point. But Revan saw through his anger on this occasion; he was angry at himself, most of all. Incapable of believing that of all the women in the galaxy that could become significant to him, it had to be her. She saw his conviction at her evil become locked in conflict with his affection for her.

Most of all, she saw that he had come to realize that while memories could be altered, human nature couldn't; it had _always_ been her, from the beginning till the end. It was how she _would have been_, had she not learned the terrible truth. If only the gift of foresight wasn't hers, if the Force didn't run through her veins too strongly, far more strongly than anyone could predict.

And, for the first time in what seemed ages, Revan allowed pity to enter her heart. She still had one, of course; a person without a heart would have surrendered to her own charade long ago. This man was far stronger than she had guessed. He was struggling with his own beliefs and his will to love her, despite the thick mask she had so carefully created to disguise her true intentions.

That was strength she needed. That was strength she _craved_.

Because she was always alone.

Malak had been destroyed by her, a pure soul turned into an empty shell. A blank page upon which she had written words too harsh. He had learned and embraced his part in the tragedy she had written far too well. The only person in the universe she would have given her life to protect was destroyed by the very attempt to protect the entire galaxy.

An unfair bargain, but a necessary one. As all her decisions were.

But Carth was spun of a different silk. He refused to sink too deep into her own creation. He was perhaps the first person who was making an attempt to see not her deeds, not her plans, but _her_. The person, not the icon, not the figure of history, not the spinner of webs that would capture the entire galaxy. And faced with that strength, that conviction that there was more to her than others supposed… Revan felt very exposed. Very weak.

Very… human. She hadn't felt like a human being for so very long…

If only in exchange for that single moment, she made the choice to see things through to the end.


	11. Lust

**o.O.o**

**Lust**

**o.O.o**

Korriban, in many ways, was the easiest planet of them all. No laws to restrict even the most drastic of tactics, no need to keep up appearances, no sand and no local tribal wars. But mostly, the first of those.

Revan, while now comfortable with her entourage and what had happened to her, still felt that things could get somewhat better between them. Whatever their words, most of them were still treating her with partial awe and partial fear. It was as if and embodiment of the Force had appeared in front of them simply to set off a large grenade in their faces, to be perfectly blunt and simple.

HK-47 was the one who found this trip most enjoyable. There were times when she suspected the droid would have wept with joy, if such a thing was possible for him and wouldn't rust his precious circuits. Her poor creation remembered all that had happened since that very last assassination mission she had sent it on and told her everything she needed to know. She preformed some delicate repairs and, by the time they were leaving the planet, the droid was better than new, even.

Canderous treated her with such militaristic respect that one would think she was Mandalore himself. Revan was more than familiar with the mindset of his people, even though she had despised them whole-heartedly for the misery they had brought the galaxy and couldn't forgive them completely even though she now knew that there had been a driving force behind them. Still, the battle-hardened warrior was the only non-droid ally of whose loyalty she was absolutely certain the entire time. Mandalorians viewed survivors and victors as the only ones worthy of respect. She was both and he was a highly capable asset; it could be said that they were actually friends, whatever might have transpired in the past.

Those two were the ones she took to Dreshdae, knowing that there would be more than ample opportunity for both of them to get what they wanted. The local Sith had turned, to Revan's partial dismay and great disappointment, into bratty children that had no true concept of anything besides personal power; not even that, in most cases. They only wished for the power to frighten others. It was the domino effect; once the standards of the higher-ups dropped, they accepted all kinds of scum into their ranks.

Revan was more saddened than angered by this. Her plans to reform and strengthen the Republic were beginning to collapse on a single mishap that could have ended in her death. Now, the ranks of the 'Sith' soldiers were undisciplined, recruited apprentices barely mature enough to fight and worlds that would have been an asset on the long run were dead. It seemed that the only thing Malak was highly efficient at was destruction.

Her vision was crumbling and suddenly, she thought that perhaps even plucking out the source of the poison – her former friend – wouldn't help much. In the end, it would be like trying to get a perfectly good garden rid of weeds; the wretches would always return. That was always the risk of such a gamble, but… well, she resolved to keep this in mind, at least, for the moment when she would have to make some crucial and difficult decisions.

Her desire had never been power, she remembered that well enough. She had always had power in abundance, just like everything else. At times, others would comment that she had been blessed with too many good things. Too much power and skill and knowledge, which would one day have to be compensated by great misfortune or sorrow on her part. And this had proven quite true.

She had allowed the desire for goodness overcome her and thus stylized herself into the position of a protector. It was as the poet would say; society rejects two types of a person: the one who threatens it and the one who protects it. Revan would never fit in anywhere, not even when the great war that was to come would be over. Her power and intellect would always be beyond the grasp of most minds and thus she would be feared and shunned by those around her. Her choices would be understood, but likely never forgiven or celebrated.

The masses, those she claimed not to care about, would one day celebrate her and then, her so-called cruelty would outweigh the good she had done… or tried to do, in any case.

Revan wanted very little for herself from life. When she was little, she had dreamed of nothing else than to live in peace and contentment and bring that to those around her. When her powers were discovered, she considered them a joy that would help her in that. When she had first met Malak, she believed firmly that even if she was to find no other friend in her whole life, no one else worthy of her regard, she would be happy with what she had.

But no one had ever asked her what _she_ wanted. She was a Jedi. She couldn't want anything for herself. She couldn't want anything for anyone. Those were the limitations that formed blindness. Those were the flaws that prevented them from defending the Republic when it was needed. And so Revan had begun sacrificing her hopes and desires one after the other, simply for the sake of the galaxy.

It had gained her the attention of the Sith Emperor, opened her eyes to danger and the perilious path to salvation. One that she would have to shepherd others along.

She was succeeding… and where had it left her? On the edge of space, with people who were only beginning to come to terms with her true self. She was beginning to come to terms with her year-long _imprisonment_ of sorts herself.

Now came the question: what did _she_ want?

If she wanted to, she supposed she could abandon the Republic at this point and have it fend for itself, if it believed it could. There were many worlds outside of known space that would gladly welcome her and her abilities. But she couldn't do that… she had sacrificed far too much for the flawed masterpiece that was the galaxy to leave it now. However, it would be necessary eventually… she knew. She would be forced to leave and seek out this unknown threat herself before she could find out how to effectively fight it.

After one look at the city of Dreshdae and the Academy, Revan changed their initial plans. She refused to belittle herself by competing with these brats. It would have made some strategic sense, yes, but she had belittled herself quite enough over the last few months. Instead, much to the horror of the 'light side' of her entourage, Revan proceeded to unpack some of the things they had carried out of the Sith Embassy on Manaan to sell in the future and managed to locate the robes of a Dark Jedi Master. Even more horrible than the sight of her in such attire was the fact that it worked brilliantly and quickly.

The difficult part came when Carth somehow managed to find his son amongst the Sith recruits. It was the quickest way their cover could be blown ever devised and so Revan, as a sign of good faith, 'rescued' the boy from the ways of the Sith. He was very young, really… but he couldn't be seven years younger than her. The real reason why she sent him away was actually the fact that he reminded her too much of herself or Malak at the start of the first war.

So young… so naïve and ignorant of what they would be facing…

And when father and son were reconciled and promised each other that they would see each other again very soon, Revan understood what she had always wanted and never would have. A place where she would _belong_. Someone who would see her and all her choices… and take her as she was, not as anything anyone else might have constructed.

Because once there had lived a young Jedi under a different name, one that would one day become Revan… and that Jedi had peace. Now and in the future, there wouldn't be anyone who would remember her actual name and she accepted that. The Revanchist, after all, was a figure that could easily eclipse anything and anyone. She no longer had a claim on that name or that past, she supposed. Forever would she be Revan, who never belonged, never had peace, never rested.

And what Revan yearned for most of all was what she had sacrificed.


	12. Chastity

**o.O.o **

**Chastity**

** o.O.o**

It took Revan time to sort out her memories. She began to see connections that had evaded her before, patterns, even. Truly, it was an awakening; where at first the recollections had seemed simply a mass of dark feverish mutterings, like a chaotic holocron of a mind pushed too far, now they weren't the experiences of a different person. She was returning to her old self. It was a subtle transformation, but certain nuances in her behavior were beginning to show. Like that she barely smiled anymore, which was what Mission was quick to comment on once the somewhat perky girl got over her initial edginess around Revan.

Upon a closer study, Revan came to the conclusion that she had been shaped by the people that had surrounded her. She had never been surrounded by her equals, but that was not the true mistake. Seeing her potential and quick growth, her instructors were always quick to place her among the most advanced students; she had never been surrounded by her own peers. And the older people that were in her learning groups, though awed by the young prodigy, could never quite come to terms with the fact that a child was on the verge of surpassing even them. And Revan had always been a quick learner; she learned to be guarded and shun so-called friendships that had the single aim of getting close to her because of the prestige she could offer.

She had always been a marked person, no matter where she was placed. Always put on a pedestal, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. In a way, she thought she could relate well to the plight of the normal Republic population because she, of all the Jedi, had experienced the closest thing to a non-cloistered childhood. Paraded throughout the galaxy, spending her days traveling from one world to another, from school to school. A poster girl, an embodiment of what the Order was to represent. Jedi Masters, though at times sharing the views of the ever-jaded Vrook, believing that she would one day be trouble, would bring her before their classes and display her as what their students should strive to be.

Mistakes, chinks in her armor… such things were not allowed for her. she had learned to embrace being the center of the attention – as was human nature – but as she grew and matured, she realized that those who need not rely on others for strength are destined to be alone. And though countless Jedi watched her every step and worshipped every breath she took, none of them got close enough to her to be able to tell that she was suffering, something she had learned to ignore and later on wouldn't notice at all.

Especially with the boy that was to become Malak one day; he, like all the others, was in awe of her most of the time, but unlike them, he strove to see _her_, not what she represented. And he made her forget that she was viewed as an ideal, a symbol, not what she truly was – a human girl, who had simply _forbidden_ herself to be fallible, to give up, to not live up to the expectations of the galaxy. She was destined for greatness, they all said. When she became a full-fledged Knight in her late adolescence, the youngest pupil to do so in at least a century, those that were prone to hero worship no longer bothered to hide their hushed whispers: give her ten years and she would be sitting on the High Jedi Council, which had already taken a keen notice of her. Some argued that it should be sooner, within the next three years, claiming that her youth was simply an excuse the Masters were using to push the popular opinion away.

The Order loved her like one would love a champion. As Revan would come to realize, they loved her for representing all that they should but couldn't be.

Revan didn't know love. Yet she had come to realize that emotion was very important, not something to be shunned. Most creatures in the galaxy acted more on such impulses than on logic. Logic said that the Mandalorians should have won. Emotion countered that they would fight to the very end, even if it was useless, even if they were all going to die in the end. The true trick was keeping those two in balance. Most beings in the universe never managed to master it.

She had never had problems with it, being removed from very human and very natural things such as family, friendship or romance. Suddenly, having all three thrust upon her so quickly, she was almost… afraid. She could understand these things if their purpose was tactics and strategy, but somehow, the naïve assumption of some of her companions that she was doing what she did out of some feeling of kinship didn't cause her to scorn them and dismiss them. perhaps those were the remnants of her implanted personality, but it didn't seem so to her.

Being treated more like a person than a figure. She… liked it. It was bad for the option that she would be forced to sacrifice her crew – or parts of it – but… she found it elating, in a strange way.

But the breaking point came the moment when Carth approached her again, refusing to take back his pledge of protection. And Revan, for the first time in years, was stunned. No one had ever offered to protect her. she had no true need of it; any person even partially sensitive to the Force could see that she was in a completely different power category than most creatures – and Revan suspected that Carth possessed a degree of that sensitivity above that of an average person, though it was far too late for him to examine that more than out of idle interest. But it wasn't the logic of things that mattered. It was the _gesture_. The sincerity of it.

Because there was conviction in the pilot's eyes when he said that he believed her to be a good person, someone worth saving. Not necessarily in battle, perhaps, Revan mused, but someone worth defending. Someone worth loving, even, Carth said with quiet courage, looking her into the eyes, as if searching her very soul, that which he firmly believed she had. And in the face of such strength, Revan found herself feeling quite petrified. No one else would have dared to think such things of her, let alone say them to her face. She was thought to be untouchable.

There was a reason behind such openness, a simple one; they were alike in that they had sacrificed or lost everything that had mattered to them. And now, they seemed to be beginning to slowly regain it. Hope, most of all. Perhaps it was partly noble martyrdom; redeeming the feared Sith Lord would certainly be worthy of glory. But that thought was destroyed when she continued observing Carth, who was looking at _her_ not at _Revan_. He understood that the surface was something that could be separated from the core of her being, revealing just a human being, tired of running ahead and being the strong one, without ever realizing it.

When she gave the slightest smile and noted in a voice softer than her usual tones that she could love him as well, Carth barely believed that it was Revan, Darth Revan who stood before him, in the shape of a brilliant, beautiful young woman, confirming that she could imagine that they had a future together. Bizarre as it was, it was the moment he realized that there was a story behind this all, a burden he hoped to help her with, if she allowed. For cunning and cool she might be, but there was far more feeling within her than a Sith Lord could ever have.

It was one of the greatest reasons why Revan chose to alter her view of the universe and change her plans. It was why she refused Bastila's fanatic pleas for a grand revolution at the Temple.

And then, on the beach of the distant Rakatan world, seeing not infatuation, lust or worship, but love, honest and unhidden love in the eyes of her first ally on this quest, Revan realized that she, too, had come to love him. For seeing her. for trusting in her. For wishing to protect her. The reasons, once realized, seemed endless.

Her mind began to create a fantasy she had never dreamed of. An end of the wars. A return to the Republic. A release from her duties – at least temporarily. She didn't expect any useless rewards, but she refused to go to prison for her common sense and foresight. But she didn't mind a dismissal from the Jedi Order; a formal one. She was a member again, in theory. Then, she could live… live a normal life. Do what she wanted. If she used her birth name instead of the one the galaxy had given her and to which she answered better than the one her parents had given her, her talents would outweigh her history and she would have no trouble with starting a new career.

She could do anything she wished. And as frightening as it seemed, she was certain that with someone to keep her on the path, she could achieve it. She could… she could be free. Have a family, even, though the thought of being a foster parent to a grown child was thoroughly frightening. But… she _could_ do it.

And so she responded in contradiction to logic, allowing herself a moment of selfishness, of happiness. The mask that had become part of her face dropped, shattered, and when Revan told Carth Onasi quite plainly that she loved him, the Force sang, a sign, perhaps, that an era of painful silence had come to an end.


	13. Greed

**o.O.o**

**Greed**

**o.O.o**

When Bastila fell before her in a heap of dark, angry thoughts, humbled against her will and believing herself to be lost to any kind of hope, Revan wondered how come everyone that she believed capable of withstanding the pressure of following her seemed to crumble and stray from the path she had cleared for them.

No one was beyond redemption; that was one rule with which she agreed. At least, no one who wasn't innately evil. With those, one didn't have the time to hesitate. There wasn't a mistake that couldn't be corrected and Revan was by now an expert on fixing the mistakes of others. She was always the one who had to clear the path and correct it, remove the rubble and dust and make it passable for those who would come after her.

The Padawan, her eyes opened to the true nature of the Force, learned a valuable lesson. But Revan now understood that it was too soon for her to be a truly vital part of her plan. And her Battle Meditation had likely yet to mature completely, which was only another reason for keeping the girl safe from the path she would have to walk. At the very least, she knew how to learn and how to accept the truth now. Her pride and brashness were vices, true, but it was the trademark of the young and naïve, something she would outgrow.

And despite much evidence to the contrary, Revan did care about Bastila's well-being and her opinions. She had always intended to train her in a way, but certainly never intended to reveal everything to her. Yet in the brief conversation that they shared, she told the Padawan more about her intentions than she ever had done with Malak, if only to soothe her mind. Broken but mending, Bastila understood that not all was lost, certainly not for her.

She then decided that she wanted only one thing from the Council, if they took her back; she would request to be assigned to Revan as a Padawan. There was much yet to learn and she finally understood it.

When Revan finally fought her way through to Malak, alone, as it was likely fated to be, she contemplated this sudden turn of events. She had always had to consider sacrificing even her most trusted allies, but she had never thought that the moment might come that she would have to slay Malak herself. It was a frightening notion and at the current moment, it hurt her more than anyone would ever know. Her face was determined and her mind set, but the emotion that had been awakened in her only days – hours, perhaps – prior to that was whispering quietly in her mind, reminding her of all the things she had buried in the depths of her mind.

The memories of her childhood. The days when a portion of her mind, at times small, at times large, was always devoted only to a single person.

No one in the universe would ever be able to replace Malak for her, no matter what she might care for them.

Their friendship had been the light of her childhood; the only beacon in the mists of madness that were threatening to take over at times. Thanks to him, she had learned to act when needed, not hold back. It wasn't romantic love that she had for the boy he had been – back then, it had been much too soon for such a sentiment to blossom and by the time it could have been possible, there was too much danger around them to allow it – but it was something deeply connected to her soul.

If she were allowed to have her way, she would end things with a picturesque happy ending. She would open his eyes to the truth… no. She would ask him, plead with him, to allow her to speak to him plainly, as they had once done, and explain every action she had taken. Not justify; that would be hypocrisy. She only wished for him to understand that every step she took, every moment she had pretended, had been for the greater good.

Funny how that always seemed to end up being the most profound reason for any evil action: the greater good. In her case, however, it was the complete truth.

It was a hope, a dream never to be. Because the mockery of her friend she had created told her the single truth she had tried not to acknowledge: that she would always stand alone. No matter how many came to her defense, no matter how deeply she might care for them, in the end, she would never be rid of her stigma.

The thought that she could lead a normal life evaporated with his words. He was so utterly right. She could lead a mediocre, average life, but she would never be treated as a mediocre, average person. In the end, her past would catch up with her. Her power would have to be used.

And Revan couldn't run when she could make a stand. That wasn't her way.

In the end, Revan wondered if she had struck so precisely and with such deadly power because he had told her this truth she didn't wish to hear.

As Malak lay dying, he acknowledged her superiority, but it meant nothing. Being on a pedestal was only loneliness… and Malak was something special to her because, of all people, he could one day stand in that spotlight with her. Or at least steady her on her pedestal, supporting her. instead, he was freed from the destiny of being the shadow of a titan.

Revan, left behind, left to continue on her journey, now weakened, felt something within her break. She finally understood this greed for having a happy ending. Malak was important to her because of his honesty, because whenever she asked if what she was doing was right, he would look her in the eyes and affirm that he believed in her completely, that he was with her and that he would never leave her side.

The last one had been a lie. She never forgave him for that. Never forgave herself for twisting that truth into a lie.

When she returned to the Ebon Hawk, finding Carth and Bastila waiting for her in great anticipation, she didn't answer any of their questions. Instead, she retreated to her quarters in silence, with a look on her face that froze the victorious smiles of her companions.

She wanted to cry. To finally break down and let loose all the emotions swirling through her heart and mind. To be allowed to be human; to regret losing someone so dear to her to her own plan, to berate herself for her own weakness. She fully yearned to hate herself for being the one seated at the dejarik board of the galaxy, facing off against an opponent she couldn't yet see.

It proved to be impossible. Instead, her logical mind berated her for her greed. A Jedi to the core, that was what she was. What a Jedi is supposed to be, quite unlike those other fools. No ties, but a connection to all the worlds around her. But it would take a machine to be a paragon of emotional coldness. Being human was far more difficult than she thought.

Her resolution only grew. She had lost an irreplaceable friend, but she had others now to care for, those who were more than pawns now. Friends from unlikely places… she hadn't used the word friend in ages. Nevertheless, she knew that even though it might be a tactical mishap, she had to protect them. A moment of greed was a small price to pay for what she had sacrificed.

She refused to stand entirely alone any longer. They were hers, all of them, even if they went away from her, even if they were capable of handling themselves. They were under her protection now and even if she never said it again, not even to herself, they were dear to her in their own way. Carth especially and, due to recent events, Bastila. In another day and age, she might have even humbled herself and taken on the mantle of a teacher once more, taking the Padawan as her own student.

What ifs were useless, however. Her path went away from that which could have been hers. Perhaps, one day, she would return and live the life that by all rights should have been hers.


	14. Charity

**o.O.o**

**Charity**

**o.O.o**

There was a great victory celebration waiting for them when the Ebon Hawk touched down. The entire fleet stood assembled, ready to hail its new heroes, even though whispers of the snippets of the holo conversation between Revan, Master Vandar and the fleet Admiral were beginning to surface. Most of them were trying to get as far to the front as possible, to see for themselves if it was really true that the leader of the strike team that had rescued Bastila and slain Malak, thereby saving them all, was actually Revan.

It took cajoling – mainly from Mission, who refused to be refused – to make her even consider coming out.

She didn't feel as if there was anything to celebrate; after all, all that had happened was that her initial plan to reconstruct the Republic had failed, she had been forced to sacrifice a magnificent weapon factory for several strategic reasons and her best friend, strongest supporter and right hand in one was slain by her. Moreover, the Republic was weakened, the Sith she had created would crumble without someone strong to lead them… to her, it was as if she had a house. One that was beautifully decorated, with things she had picked out herself and placed with delicate care. And then, without warning, it collapsed around her… leaving her in the cold and dark night.

Strategically, a loss, completely and utterly, as far as she was concerned. Yes, she as a person had gained something, but she knew now that she couldn't think of herself or her own future before she secured that of the galaxy. The Force had chosen her as its agent and she knew better than to resist its will. Perhaps this was what she received her power and intellect for; to save the galaxy. An idyllic view of her path in life, perhaps, but it made sense to her. it was a sufficiently logical reason for her to move on and continue.

She had so many things she wanted to do. First, she would properly pay her respects to her lost friend. Not a funeral, perhaps, but he would be remembered properly, for all the good that he had brought to the galaxy, to her. Then, she would set straight things with the Jedi and finally tell them everything no one had the courage to tell them. And after that, she would finally move on to the present and take her first steps to the future.

The Star Forge had created new clothing for her and, surprisingly, it turned out to be two sets of robes. One matched her previous comfortable black ones with light reddish armor, but they were devoid of the mask she had worn. It was irony on part of the Star Forge, perhaps; now, when her face had been seen already by so many, there was no further way to hide. And she had dropped the mask, figuratively speaking, when she had bared her heart to those close to her. The other set was creamy white, the armored vest made of brown leather instead of the red and black light material with resistance to lightsabers the other ones had.

The latter, however, was now slightly dirt-stained, soaked with sweat and cut in one spot or two. It was, after all, what she had worn during her battle with Malak and her journey throughout the various levels of the Star Forge. She donned the second, more familiar armor after washing herself completely of the outward signs of battle and most of her fatigue. The rest of it, she hid very well, as usual. They were expecting Revan outside, after all. And so Revan she would give them, she decided as she combed her now clean and dry hair.

The crowds outside were silent when she left the ship, the last of their heroes, completely recognizable in the black robes that had become a vision from a nightmare to most of the soldiers. However, they were mostly in awe for a different reason, that being that Revan's face was unmasked and the hood of her black cape, almost resembling black wings, hung freely down her back. With her hair loose of any clasps or bindings that might have held it, neatly combed, her expression calm and regal, Revan could most decidedly be considered beautiful by any standard.

Master Vandar and Admiral Dodonna were the only ones courageous enough to approach her and of the two, only the tiny Jedi seemed to be relatively at ease around her. The Admiral was corrected rather coolly when she tried to address Revan with the name used in her service records and quite plainly refused the Cross of Glory that they were willing to give her for her participation in the conflict. Her words were mostly directed at Vandar, who admitted to everything Bastila had already confirmed and offered his regrets – it hadn't been his decision.

Some were downright astonished when the small Jedi quite calmly – kindly, even, his voice still apologizing – said that they, the Jedi Order, would be honored to accept her back into their ranks formally, so that they might have a chance to learn what had happened to her and help her, all the while faced with the intensity of Revan's stare. Even more fantastical was when Revan proposed a different bargain; her freedom and the ship that already belonged to her… so that she could leave. Where to, she didn't say.

Revan was not at all surprised with the proceedings. She had expected the offer to return to the Jedi Order. The idea of accepting had never crossed her mind. The Order was imperfect; whatever Vandar might promise her, she would be resented, treated as the villain, as a grenade about to detonate. And it was how she wanted things to be, but back then, she hadn't supposed that she would be back at the first step. Further back, even, now without the resources to use the Sith tactics against the Sith themselves. Perhaps that wasn't the way to go about this, because in the end, it turned the Republic into the very enemy she wished to wipe out.

The Sith are an ideal, she knew, but the more one believed in an ideal, the truer it became.

Carth and Bastila were at her side in an instant, pleading with her to tell them what was going on; that they wouldn't let her go, not now, that they both needed her. Albeit slightly grudgingly, Dodonna openly agreed with that statement, as did Vandar. The Republic needed a figurehead other than the ever-bickering Senate to make the decisions everyone seemed to stall. The Jedi needed their champion once more, to regain their credibility in the galaxy. And they also seemed to be under the impression that she owed them that much, even though Vandar was quick to point out that, in a way, it could be a valuable lesson for both sides of the conflict.

Revan didn't want to slaughter what little of the Republic soldiers were left. She agreed for the moment, if only to see the state of things in the Republic. Again, she became the poster-girl of the Republic, even though she formally refused to enter either organization. Her work was fortifying the Republic against what was to come, fortifying it as much as possible without needing to take it apart piece by piece. She spoke with the High Jedi Council, she appeared before the Senate. She visited important outposts and drove back the remnants of Malak's rogue Sith out of the picture until they destroyed each other.

But slowly, she began making preparations.

Canderous, who would never have stayed as part of the Republic military anyway, was given the most knowledge. For some time, he was the closest thing to a confidante and general in one that Revan had, replacing Malak in some strategic aspects. Strengthened by the information Revan gave him and proud that she called him the worthiest Mandalorian to unify the clans again she had ever known, he set out on the path she had prepared for him, hoping in the depths of his soul to see her again and make her repeat those words upon seeing his achievements.

Bastila, humbled by her experiences with the Sith, petitioned the Council again and again to be apprenticed to Revan, which frightened them to some degree. The two of them together would be unstoppable in case Revan turned on them once more – they were not told her reasons for doing so and tried time and time again to get her to confess them, uselessly. She simply repeated the stories rumors had constructed for the crowds to believe. Revan learned to like the Padawan greatly and often regretted not being able to remain long enough to truly shape and unlock her powers. To the best of her ability, Revan trained her as her successor in the role of a champion for the Jedi. They weren't equals in any way yet, but by the time Bastila was knighted, her Battle Meditation was but one of the many things she was known for.

Carth was always the hardest, simply because Revan was reminded time and time again that she genuinely loved him; that it wasn't just a desperate infatuation born of her loneliness. He was also getting very perceptive, possibly due to his proximity to an individual extremely strong in the Force. The struggle Revan felt within her was great. Perhaps this was a test of her resolution; the Force seemed to be curious if she was really capable of sacrificing her own happiness for the good of the galaxy. Dustil and his father reconciled and while the boy was somewhat edgy about seeing his father smitten with a woman that was not only closer to his own age that also happened to be Revan, he didn't seem as intimidated by the prospect of earning such a formidable stepmother as he perhaps should be.

Revan, on the other hand, found it terrifying, but cared sufficiently to allow herself the benefit of doubt in this case. Besides, it seemed that the former Sith apprentice was willing to let this slide if that meant that he could be her Padawan, as he informed her one day. Charming, in a rather stunning way, but Revan asked him politely never to call her anything with the word 'mother' in it unless he wanted to have her die of a heart attack. Or have someone meet the business end of a lightsaber. Dustil agreed rather somberly, but other than that single moment, Revan considered him a very agreeable young man. And, much to her dismay, either he or Mission would repeatedly hint that they were almost certain that if it weren't for the restorative efforts of the Republic keeping him busy, Carth would have proposed to her quite readily.

She was unused to what others would consider normalcy. And it was likely that she would never have it, once her memories were completely back in place and all that she needed to know was clear to her. the wall these things put between her and Carth would only last for a certain time…

But the clock was ticking. Time was running out. And Revan, ever the scout, ever the sentinel, ever five steps ahead of everyone else, knew that there was only one thing left to do. Her successors were named and ready to take over. She had done what she could to prepare the Republic for what was to come. Now, her time and power was better spent elsewhere, away from the public eye. It was time to leave known space.

Charity, in a way, was the greatest evil of them all, stripping those prone to it of things that should have been theirs. Loss was a grim teacher, one that Revan knew well. She had come to embrace it.

Perhaps one day, the Force would prove to be kind as well as merciless and repay her for all that she had given it a thousandfold.

**o.O.o**

_**Finis**_

**o.O.o**

AN: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this – I will try and reply to the individual reviews if I have the time. This was my attempt to create a Revan different from the general interpretations, especially as it is considered canon that the wiped memories were back before the Battle of the Star Forge. I know Revan is canonically male, but I think fem!Revan works better for several reasons: one, it adds depth to the relationship with Carth, two, it provides reasons for possible tension between her and Malak if you consider his experience with Jarael, another woman he admired (comicverse) and three, it explains why she would want to wear a mask all the time when there was really no reason for it (as she was physically all right and didn't need to rely on any power-amplifier).

I have also tried to refrain from giving her a definite name or describing her physical appearance or Jedi class for obvious reasons, though in my mind, she is always the blue-eyed blonde/light brunette with the ponytail and a Scout/Jedi Sentinel. I also like the idea of just faking a fall to save the Republic, thus Revan isn't exclusively Light or Dark Side – she does what she has to, which doesn't always match what she wants to. Canon has been considered throughout the fanfic – only the gender canon was thrown out of the airlock. I will likely not write more KotOR fics anytime soon, but I have enjoyed writing this. Hope you all liked it.


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